Ah these elusive northeastern hopwhales Never seem to be in short supply these days. Back in 2011 the OG conewalez were Ephraim, boy King and citra. At some point people were overdrawn on fucks to spare and the vast majority of these noble breeds have gone the way of the white rhino. Except dripping with rare alpha acids.

This is a throwback to those days, something in the same vein as fuzzy baby ducks, just an outstanding hoppy beer that unquestionably warrants the steep price of entry. This week we will have more Lawson’s shit and this trillobite of the trading world is making a loving rebirth. If they are that markedly better than the already substantial local hoppy beers, then bring them on.

So MBC has a solid pedigree of clean, simple beers that operate without gimmicks, maintain a focused message and agenda and marketing that is as stripped down as a Tori Amos concert. Even their ultra hyped DINNER OMFG DOUBLE IPA, is tame by modern ploys. It doesn’t have a sky high 12% abv, it doesn’t need hop oil extract or crazy quince-dry hopping or stupid shit. It just steps forth as a no frills boxer that delivers without a series of empty pre-show threats and interviews. The hop cones COMETH.

A: this beer pours radiant and looks phenomenal with lightly hazy orange and tangerine glow to the center with carb that is neither excessive nor tepid. Cast flat stones across this beautiful Maine pond.

S: the nose on this beer again shows a remarkable degree of balance and poise like an épée delicately carving tight lines in the malty canvas shirt of opponents. This has orange zest, clementines, raked pine needles, tangelo pith and a oily closer that wafts incredibly refreshing. This isn’t a style you often peg as uplifting, unless you are into pegging. Then by all means. The nose delivers hard and I want to pour this in a volcano and take fat clear pulls from a clean bag of these danky cones.

When I see people offering up offshelf local ipas for this.

T: this beer doesn’t disappoint in this regard either and zero ragrets are left from trading for a DIPA. The mouth is dry at the outset, grapefruit and kiwi are complimented by a sticky depth and lingering crushed leaves that adds depth without making it cloying or excessive. I wish this were canned and readily available so I could cross yet another style off of the “trade for” list. If you enjoyed double Galaxy, this is a cleaner more nimble version that satisfies in its simplicity, like a Buster Keaton performance.

M: this is anomalously dry on the first sip but finished long with an oily discharge down your throat. That’s a treatment that some deviants pay top dollar to enjoy. Again this is one of those “no qualifier” top Dipas that shows the care and subtle influence from the brewer that is a breath of hoppy air to a market crowded with stupid pepper ipas, honey infusion, Crystal malt, dextrose bullshit.

Quality or quantity don’t tell me they’re the same.

D: a pint botle is almost a mocking homage to the label which instructs you to drink every bottle you purchase on the day it was released. Like fuzzy baby ducks, any container is an inherent limitation to this ceaselessly enjoyable iteration of a dIPA. The confines of glass has an attendant recognition that this bottle, too will end soon, and you will be left in your efficiency apartment with a judgmental Netflix message calling back into the emptiness of your home. Your taste of greatness is a recognition of your own shortcomings, and the experience is well worth it.

Wait for the next release and lock this shit down like a Brinks truck.